2014’s New Years Eve gathering was a mature, low-key affair; the type of thing you do when you begin to see 30 on the horizon, or have just turned 30, or are in your 30’s. Given that the three of us who hung out that night fit neatly into these categories, I think we had a very appropriate night, apart from once again plumbing the depths of filth by discussing the practical usage of male pleasure aids, our (ill-informed) evolutionary theory of promiscuity, and clitorises. We just can’t help our awful selves.
First we had dinner and a few drinks in Northcote at the Terminus Hotel, and then strolled into a High Street wine bar (Bar Nancy, I think?) at around 1 am, where we were accosted by a pair of drunken middle-aged London floozies, one of whom greeted us all with a dainty handshake and a ‘Ooo the fuck are you?’ She was kinda sexy, in a gap-toothed-Camden-bohemian-gypsy kinda way.
On reflection, I think we can all agree that 2014 was a pretty rough year for planet Earth: the rise of ISIS, public executions, commercial airlines disasters, large-scale massacres, hostage crises, and apparently some lady with a fat bum 'broke the Internet'.
But then again, what’s new? The world has been slowly turning into Hieronymus Bosch’s vision of Hell for years, and there’s nothing we can do about it. Let’s just hope the apocalypse is painless and quick and doesn’t involve those fast-moving 28 Days Later zombies.
On the plus side 2015 is looking bright for me:
I scored a twelve-month writing residency with Writers Victoria
I will be starting a new job
I have made progress on a side business idea
I am sort of happy
New Years Resolutions? To stop making an ass of myself and to write more stuff.
Here’s to throwing myself into the deep end, yet again.
Happy New Year.